Thursday, August 30, 2012

Finally...

If you have any thoughts about writing and self-publishing a book...well, I have some advice.  Unless you have the patience of Job(and I don't have the patience of a 6-year-old around Christmas), I wouldn't suggest that you use Lulu as your publisher.
That is to say if your book is at all controversial.  I have to assume that after about six months of wrestling with them, that this is the reason it took so long to actually get what I paid for; because of my book's content.  I dunno. But the good news is...IT IS DONE!  Yay!

You can now...I am told...buy my book at any brick-and-mortar bookstore and it is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble online.  B&N has the best price at the moment.  And I don't know how much your local bookshop will sell it for, but again, I am told it is available now.

I have stated here before that all proceeds from this tome will be forwarded to Palestinian relief...and that holds true.  I have received almost enough from my original sales(thanks, guys) to pay for publishing it, so anything I receive from now on will be donated to such a cause.  I will post which fund I donate said funds to...when and if I ever see any more money from this little venture.
 Of course, I encourage you to buy a copy, if you already haven't, if for this reason alone.  But I sat down and re-read it the other day...and, hey...it ain't bad.  So it isn't something you will have to struggle through just to make a donation to a good cause.  You might actually enjoy it(grin).  I realize that many of you, because of various usurious practices of the international jew, are strapped for cash.  It isn't likely to get better in the near future...I understand(that is the main reason I chose a "free" self-publisher).
But if you can't afford it...I would appreciate a positive(or even a few 'negative'-helps drive sales) reviews at the online venues?  That doesn't cost anything...but a few minutes and a few thoughts.  Thanks in advance of that.
As I have also said about this exercise in vanity that is my book, it is meant to be a statement...not a best-seller.  Folks, I have no grand illusions of myself as an author.  I don't seek fame and fortune in payment for my divine talents as a writer.  I know better. 
But again...it is a matter of conscience.  I want to sleep well at night and I want to crawl in to that final hole knowing that I at least tried.  And I can't do that without your help.  
So anything you can do...purchase or review...will be greatly appreciated, and perhaps afford you some more restful hours on the pillow, knowing you helped stick it to the criminal judaic.

Okay...that is all I will say about this.  I am truly grateful for anything you can do(or already have done) concerning this publication. Thank you! 

Oh...and I am hereby available for book-signings.  Ha.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

I Should Say Something...

My heart is not in it...but I feel the need to say something. 

I don't know why I expected anything other than the outcome we see today concerning the Corrie's civil suit.  We all knew what they would do.  In a way, even though they tossed an opportunity for some good PR, it is altogether fitting and proper that they did this.

And we should revel in the fact that they have yet again proven that they are 'the beast' that we all know they are.  There is no way to spin this verdict.  All israelis share in this indictment against the jew. For that is clearly what it is.  It is again the 'blood libel'.

Funny that of all the professed Christians out there...they do not even recognize this martyrdom for what it is.  According to your own book, they killed Christ.  And on another mound of dirt not far away from that incident and just a blink of an eye in history...they repeated their barbarism.  Funny.  Well, not too funny.
I just felt I should say something in memory of a slight little girl that had more courage than all of us put together.
I won't go on about this...you know the importance of what happened then and today.  Live with it.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Pussy Riot, Or How Many Times?

Hey...I'm no prude.  Don't get me wrong. I'm all for pussy(pass me that chicken when you are through with it, will you dear?).  And even a riot every once and a while kinda clears the air.  Cleans out the bad blood.  But.
How many times do they have to dig up the Czar's family and machine-gun them?  I mean...those damned Russian Christians are like bacteria.  You can never get rid of all of them. They're like...well...Russian jews.  I mean besides Nicholas and his wife and little daughters...they had to slaughter...what?....60-some million of them just to show the world who wears the pants in good old Russia?  Cue Dostoyevsky. But they just keep coming back every time the ashkanazi revolts.
All the sycophants are being trotted out to pay their jew-bills on this one.  Even Pauly.  Paul...stay out of politics.  You don't have the mental capabilities.  If you have to do something to please your zionist money-men...for god's sake, go over there and teach these pussies how to play a few chords.  It's becoming embarrassing to our jew-diplomats that their really IS no such band. 

I've seen people trying desperately NOT to say the word "jew" before.  But I was in stitches watching this guy.  An otherwise brilliant assessment of the facts in the case...but the fellow is going to hurt himself with all that tippy-toeing.  I guess you can't blame the bloke.  He knows as well as anyone that he could be doing his political analysis to reindeer next week if he doesn't watch what he is saying.  As the Roman soldier said to Brian..."Watch it.  We still have a few crosses left".


But on the other side of the pond...I gotta marvel at the testicles these ash-cans have.  I mean they have to print in the entire Western media - and more importantly- make their reading public okay with the word 'pussy'.  Now, I'm sorry but there are a lot of kids in the West that are going to get a pretty grown-up lesson in decadence very quickly when they ask their civics teachers "why does this band that is being denied their rights of free-speech name their band after young cats?"  I've noticed that the decadent media owners have even tried to soften the blow by calling the phantom band "PR".  They seem to have gotten themselves in a little too deep...again.  Oh well.  No one said that conquering the world was going to be easy.  But you would think that Western Christians would vehemently protest this bawdy terminology clogging up the cesspool that is their TVs.  The silence is deafening.  Maybe jews know something I don't about how much the West can take when it comes to filth being slung at their children.  Who knows.  I'm kinda out of the loop when it comes to Western media and how much the jewish get away with nowadays.
But damn.  Talk about digging up old cadavers.
Besides an ancient Paul McCartney, Madonna-Kabala-Hooker and Bono-no-penis-too-disgusting-to-fellate are rallying their ASCAP comrades to come to the aid of these prostitutes, and.............silence.  Silence from the 'moral majority'.  What ever happened to them anyway?  Where is the indignant moral outrage here? Oh well, you can never count on knee-jerks when you need them.
But I do have to admit, besides being beside myself with glee over the judge handing these girls their asses...I LOVE the term 'hooliganism'.  It could be the new polite term for the judaic.  Hooligans.  Of course it's a bit too soft for my liking...but still...it's a start.
So another Russian revolution is starting.  This time..."no more Mr. Nice-Guy" as the old saying goes.  They are pulling out all the stops and frozen chickens on this one.  Your children are going to learn what a pussy is whether you like it or not.  No more sniggering at National Geographics boobies in the back of the classroom for your precious kiddies.  Wide-open beaver is going to be the fare for their current affairs classes now.  Oh, the irony.  If Kilgore Trout were only still alive.
But it comes in stages doesn't it?  Jumps and starts as dictated by the talmud.  Patience.  That is the key.  Why, in just a few years, considering the exponential growth of yiddish filth, your preschoolers will be watching rim-jobs on their holographic play-school toys.  And you will not protest.  I guarantee that. 
How many times?  I wonder.


 

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Arrogant Prick...

I like that.

I was recently dubbed an "arrogant prick".  Well, I'm going to have agree with that assessment.  I have been called arrogant all my life, it seems.  I once had a woman explain what she meant by that.  The arrogant part...not the prick.  She said that I take entirely too much pleasure in being right about things. I didn't understand the indictment at the time.  I mean, if you are correct in your opinions...and heaven knows I have plenty of those... well it would seem to me that it would be a pleasurable experience to best your adversary with facts.  Not brow-beating.  Not ad hominem.  Not name calling...but logic.  Common sense in the face of emotion.  But hey...what do I know?  Some people don't like to lose arguments.  And I rarely lose my temper.  That bothers people as well.  But that would be part-and-parcel to the logic-vs-emotion thing.
However...being right about the things you choose to debate is a bit of a trick.  And I do understand hating the self-righteous aspect of winning an argument.  No one likes a poor winner. Cue the 'prick' part of my latest moniker.  I don't even like winners in general...when it comes right down to it.  That seems to be a uniquely amerikan pastime.  Winners.  Competition.  Full of dynamics.  I dunno.  There was a platitude that went around in the sixties: "The most revolutionary thing you can do is to change your mind".  I liked that.  It seemed to be ammunition for any political encampment.  A kind of catch-all for trying to push your agenda.
 ♫ "You say you want a revolution"...and so on.

I don't know beans about financial matters as an example of the trick I mentioned up there somewhere.  Other than putting me to sleep, it never appears to have had any influence on me.  Money.  Not interested.  Oh, I understand that it is equivalent to power over others...but I never found that prospect appealing in any fashion either.  I never had any political aspirations.  So I am almost never right if I venture an opinion about such matters.  So I don't.  That's the trick.  Find what interests you...do a lot of reading from both sides of the issue.  Do a lot of thinking about it...as in, follow an idea completely to its conclusion(and most thoughts do have that point if you stick to it), make your determination and bingo-jingo...you are "right".  Do this enough with what you consider to be important issues and... miracle of miracles... you are considered to be 'wise'.  Or a 'wise-guy'.  Or an arrogant prick.  I'll settle for any of the above.

The above description to which I have been saddled comes most recently about my viewpoints concerning race.  Skin color.  Physical attributes that seem to cause humans so much worry.  Frankly I don't give a shit.  But a lot of people do.  Especially within the community of people with which I have found company recently in this endeavor of calling a jew-a-jew...and pointing out that cult's misbehaviour.  
It seems that within this effort to single out the judaic in their tribal identity, quite a few so engaged, take the quick route.  The 'racial' one.  Now some might say that it is the only path to take when dealing with a 'race' that climbs up on a pedestal.  A knee-jerk reaction that basically states that "hey...you aren't superior to us...we are superior to you.  And I can prove it because my skin is white and you are trying to destroy my race".  Well...I ventured down that path and it is a short one.  It leads nowhere.  To no logical conclusion that I can defend.  Nor can anyone else, I believe.  I've done the math on this.
For the life of me...and I am dead serious about the following statement; I cannot for even an instant, understand what the pigment of human skin, facial shape or the shape of one's buttocks, for that matter, has got to do with anything of social import.  Call me a lefty, commie NWO stooge, or anything else(but I prefer arrogant prick).  I don't care if babies born in the next thousand years are pink or brown or green.  Or whether they have lips or eyes slanted toward their elbows. I pretty much think, that no matter what they look like...they will probably be humans.  Bogged down by gravity...having occasional headaches...growing old before they are prepared to do so...etc.  If all this forced multiculturalism that the yiddish seem bent on imposing on the world produces 'grey people'....so what?  They will still be people.  And people can do some surprising things.  Like recognize when they are being flim-flammed by 'pinkish jews'(since by all doomsday scenarios they will be the only 'white' people left).  And when all these grey people realize that they have indeed been taken for a ride by this criminal cult...well there will be a REAL genocide on white folks.  The only non-assimilating minority left.

Now 'Culture' is another stumbling block to quite a few.  This is another cheap identity thing in which I never placed much faith. It is one of those things to me that is...I dunno...quaint.  Like religion however,  it causes WAY too much strife in people's desperate attempts to preserve it in the face of common sense.  Surely...somewhere we can lose these things that weigh us down on our journey to evolve?  Diet, clothing, hygiene...to my way of thinking should be locked within the bounds of common sense.  But it seems that the majority of humans find so much identity in these cursory concerns that when any of them are threatened...call out the militia.  Humans are goofy. 

I have also stated a few times here that white people bore me.  They do.  Well white amerikans anyway.  They have no culture.  Or I should say that their culture is on their televisions.  That seems to be their only bond.  If it ain't on tv...they never heard of it.  And I can think of nothing more boring than to sit in front of a fucking television.  So if the 'white' race disappears...I say 'good riddance'.  Perhaps the 'grey' descendents of it will absorb a bit of wisdom from the truly interesting cultures of the past.  Before the ashkanazi took hold of and diluted their positive impact on the species.  Hope springs eternal.

Before you say it...I know, I know.  I am not winning friends and influencing readers by this bit of a rant.  Oh well.  I'm an arrogant prick, remember?  That's what I do.



Saturday, August 18, 2012

Never So Proud...

I talk a lot about pride on this site.  I say you shouldn't have any.  Well, at least not have any in some amorphous group that you belong to due to the happenstance of birth.  That is to say pride comes before a fall.  You can take pride.  Or you can earn it.  But you can't steal it.  I take no pride in the spot I live in on the globe.  I assume a lot of guilt for it...but who wouldn't considering what this area is known for.  But I think we all can find something over which we should hang our heads...in the shenanigans that some duly elected official of the area we live in has accomplished.  That's a given if you identify with areas, countries, clubs, parties et al.  I don't.  But when someone correctly places me in the category of "amerikan"...my first emotion is that of shame.

But that isn't what I wanted to tackle here today.

When I was a teenager I had a frequent hang-out.  A resteraunt in which we kids felt at home and could drink coffee, cut-up and smoke for hours on end without hassle.  I'm sure you had such a place.
My oldest brother was a cop.  We weren't too close for various reasons, one of which was that I was supposed to hate 'the man'.  I didn't hate my brother....but I also didn't advertise the fact that the town's first hippie...had a 'pig' for a sibling.
One time in this hangout of mine, a patron flipped out.  It started with an argument with his(I assumed)wife.  He got out of control.  Waiters and even the eatery's manager tried to calm him down or get him to leave...to no avail.  He became violent.  Turning over tables...slapping his companion...screaming at other patrons...a very ugly scene and it was getting worse by the second.  Just as he had grabbed some guy that told him to "either shut up or leave"... in came the cops.  I immediately recognized my brother leading two other officers...and I thought "oh no, this is going to be embarrassing".
My brother strode over to the guy and had his arms behind his back and hands cuffed before you could blink an eye.  All the while...calmly reassuring the perpetrator that "everything's going to be alright"...and "we need to go outside now".  He carefully led the man out of the coffee-house and by the time they reached the door the man was weeping on my brother's shoulder.  He had obviously just had enough that day...and snapped.  He didn't need beating or manhandling...just a firm hand and a calm, cool voice of authority.  As they walked by the front window outside...people began applauding my brother's action.  We all watched as they both talked a few minutes and my brother patted him on the back and helped him into the back of the squad car.  I looked around at the grateful patrons cheering and at first my heart swelled with pride for my brother's expertise and judgement...then shame for not understanding and appreciating him before that night.  Such ambivalence.  Pride and shame can go hand-in-hand at times.

I read everywhere out here about cops gone bad.  Shooting innocent people...manhandling citizens.  I see videos that clearly show such action.  I am not going along with what these reports...mostly on the MSM outlets...want me to believe about them.
I am not going to defend such police mayhem either.  But I am going to point something out.  You see and read...generally speaking...what someone(usually a jewish editor) wants you to see or read. Yes, even on the 'alternative' sites.  And I think the fare is loaded.  It is fashioned to produce an outcome...an emotion...that benefits the ruling class.  An emotion of fear and loathing; not only in the spectator of such reportage...but in next week's 'viral video' of police brutality.  Cops are also subject to the media's influence.  They are only human...I can attest to that since quite a large portion of my family were police officers or worked in law enforcement.  Some time later I asked my brother about that night.  He barely remembered it...but when he did, he related that it turned out to be a sad story.  The man had just that day lost his job.  He had also recently lost a child to illness.  He had had enough of everything life had to offer on that evening.  But it was just another shift report to my bro.  I'm sure he handled many such cases as efficiently.  As do most cops.  However...cops also watch...and are shamed by these video reports.  They are trained to fear for their lives more and more every day.  Much more than even those that watch the evening news.  It is all purposefully 'divide-and-conquer'.
They are made to believe now that there is reason for fear from every citizen...especially those that they deal with on a day-to-day basis.
There were mass murders...insane people in public...robberies and all sorts of crimes two hundred years ago...but no instant media to scare the public about regarding them.  And no agenda driven purpose to do so.  There is now.  And both the public and the police are subject to such horrific intent.  Our police are now even being trained by IDF soldiers in dealing with the public uprisings that their bosses contrive.  The world is not going to hell-in-a-handbasket...it is being driven in that direction by those same people that bring you the evening news while they sell you their wares.  I wish more people understood this.  Police violence...and indeed most violence is self-propagating due to this type of 'journalism'.  This is a fact of our modern world.

Of course there are 'bad cops'.  Ones that join the force to prove their masculinity by any means they see fit.  There have always been.  Of course a line of police facing an angry mob are going to react to aggressive behaviour from such a crowd.  That is their job...basically. And often with emotions coming to the surface that are planted there deliberately.  But human frailties aside...most police officers are dignified individuals, I have found.  So forgive me if I am still very proud of one that I know.

Friday, August 17, 2012

See-Through People...

So this chick and I were hiking down a highway in some godforsaken state out West.  Probably high on something or other that we had left from our last stop.  We must have looked pretty strange to passing locals that didn't stop for fear of their lives.  Oh well.  That was our intent...I guess.  But then a VW van pulled over.  You could always count on people that drove Volkswagen products to give you a lift.  I never really figured that out.  They didn't even have to be freaks...they could be housewives or accountants.  Something about a person that decides to drive Hitler's gift to the automotive world...nice people, on the whole.

So we clamor in with our packs and bags and wine and take off.  The chick driving that just saved us temporarily from the heat or the cold or the rain...or just tired feet(I can't remember which), was a talkative blond with too much jewelry and teeth that were too white and straight.  
"We are all going to Woodstock", was one of the first things to come out of that overpriced mouth.  "I could tell you guys were into the revolution...that's why I stopped for you", was the next bombshell she dropped.  My companion and I looked at each other with the same "what revolution?" expression. Then she jabbered on about how she had dropped out of college and on and on, as the miles passed by.  
There were a few other rag-tag freaks asleep in the back that only moaned or coughed occasionally.  Not much of a revolution, I thought.  But we had a ride.  And the driver droned on about politics and free love and a bunch of other things that you would hear some newscaster of the time warn 'straight' people about on their tv's.  We stopped for the night and all but the driver and we two were left after the rest wandered off looking for some guy's house to score some dope.  We decided to pitch our tent next to the van and since the blond wasn't too shabby looking I suggested that we three get high on some mesc that I had, and screw all night.  It was no biggie for the girl I was with...we did that sort of thing all the time out on the road.  But we could see the reservation and the expression of panic that flashed across the driver's face before she agreed.  We understood in an instant that this would be the first time for both such endeavors for her.  She was cautious, but up for both.  Kinda like jumping into water you didn't know the temperature of.  Close your eyes...hold your nose...and jump.  Just for the fun of it.  Even though this VW- driving girl gave little info on her childhood...it was clear as crystal to my companion and myself.  'Straight as an arrow' ...we used to call it.  One not used to the seedier side of life.  One raised in a cocoon and now out in the big world trying to find an identity.  After the mescaline took hold of us, the blond took to sharing sex like a fish to water.  Light doses of mesc does funny things to people. Some say it brings out the best.  I dunno.  It did for our chauffeur. 
 We were a mass of drugged up bodies until the sun rose.  Then propped up on each other's nakedness we listened to the blond begin to recount her short life up until that night.  It was alien to my girlfriend and I...but familiar all the same.  We were children of the road.  Both coming out of hard childhoods we understood a world that the blond had just recently come to know and decide to protest.  'Life shouldn't be like that' was her mantra.  She was determined to change the world for the better and become the revolution that would facilitate it.  Life should be love and honesty and respect.
Well, of course we agreed...but we knew better. To us, life was a kick in the stomach and you just made the best of it.  Of course you stand up for what you believe in...but all the while understanding that we weren't about to change anything radically in our small lives.  
That night and the clarity about how one is raised effects your outlook, never left me.  This girl had been protected with middle class values that didn't jibe with the world that she experienced outside her childhood home.  Things weren't really as she was told.  She was pissed and going to do something about it.  And since there was a movement on their way to some farm in New York, she was going to be in it.  The 'establishment' actually LIED to her on her television.  They wanted to make war and send her boyfriend to lose his life...just for the mere monetary profit of the military-industrial complex.  "Well...this is not right and I'm going to join the revolution and change it!"
We ate breakfast at some diner on her parent's money and off down the road she went...leaving us shaking our heads.  I don't know if she ever made it to Woodstock.  We didn't.  At the time all the jewish kids were partying out in the wilderness...we were panhandling on Broadway and looking toward the coming winter.  Trying to secure some place warm to rent before the cold wind started blowing in off the Hudson.  Life was harder for many of us.  But we knew what to do.  We took the bullshit and carried on.


Nowadays with the internet...I see the same dichotomy as on that warm summer evening comparing notes with a 'straight' girl.  People out here shocked at the inhumanity of life.  Shocked at those that lie to them...shocked at the jewish manipulation of the media and banking.  Like my traveling companion(whose name I never can remember)...we are not so shocked.  We are still going to do something...anything we can...in the face of it all.  But from a different perspective.  A battle-worn one.  A battle that started when we were born into a more real world that perhaps prepared us a little better.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Of Hobby-Horses And Proof...

I really don't remember a time in my childhood when I wanted to be a cowboy.  Most boys my age did.  Shoot-em-up. Cowboys and Indians.  How politically incorrect is that?  Anyway, I always liked "Zorro".  I liked that he comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comfortable.  Zorro was and erstwhile journalist.  And he relied on anonymity.  A mask for good.  I liked that a lot.  Potshots taken at the ruling Mexican class from the dark of night.  I guess I never really got over wanting to mimic that persona. 

We all have our hobby-horses.  Heaven knows I have mine.  But I remember my first.  Old Paint.  It was a new breed when I lusted after it.  It wasn't just cheap wood attached to radiused stiles to rock on.  It had bucking action.  To accomplish this, the engineers of Old Paint had affixed four industrial-sized springs to Old Paint's feet(painlessly, I hope) and then to a pipe-like frame, so when Zorro went on one of his night raids, he merely had to hop on and hold on to the two pegs which they inserted into Old Paint's head(ouch) and start moving back and forth.  The springs took up the motion and pretty soon Zoro would almost be bucked off from the insane bouncing action. I had to have him.  Christmas came...and so did Old Paint.  Shining and new under the tree. This new design, I found, had its drawbacks.  It was all well and good if you are expecting such a rough trail on your mission to foil Sgt. Garcia once again...but there was a problem.  Flailing little legs had a tendency to get pinched in Old Paint's springs, causing some nasty blood-blisters.  Ow-ies that soon ended your night raid.  Engineers.  Go figure.  I don't know if they ever ironed out that little flaw.  But Old Paint got turned out to pasture pretty quickly after a few such injuries and I never really lusted after a hobby-horse there after.  The toy kind.

I do however hop on my favorite one here on this site...often.  Not often enough for some readers...too often for others.  Oh well.  You can't please everyone. It's tough enough just trying to please me.  I'm high-maintenance.
My latest and greatest steed is that 'jews cause most of the problems in our modern world'.  'They are at the bottom of most of our species anti-human behaviour'...and 'they have been taught this disgusting outlook on life by the cult to which they belong, and they in turn teach it to their children' .  That's my hobby-horse now.
I ride it constantly.  Most of the substance of this, I can prove...the rest is just a matter of "I wouldn't be surprised".  I try not to be too illusive, poetic or obfuscating in my views.  That wouldn't serve.  I want to reach the common man.  I still take the potshots that I did while astride Old Paint.  Ones that can't be interpreted any other way than they are intended.  But Zorro has his battle scars.  Even from friendly fire.
But that 'common man' is a hard guy to reach.  Hitler tried. He tried to reach the common Brit anyway.  He dropped leaflets over England that explained that their REAL enemy...the one that he was really fighting... were the jewish banking houses and their communist Russian takeover that threatened all of Europe...and that their Churchill was in league with them.  The British common man wasn't having any.  'Stiff upper' and all that.  Many here in the Snakes warned that FDR was a tool for the same bankers and that he was planning all along to get us into another war.  We watched war movies.

As did those that warned then...we have proof of what we are carrying on about today.  Even that doesn't seem to matter to Mr. Common.  Common now is as common always was...kinda numb.  Numb and easily led.  Like...well...a horse.  A hobby-horse.

"Illuminati" - Ouch!~ spring pinch

"Masonic fear" - Ouch!~ threw me off
"Hitler worship" - Damn...bucked again

It's tough keeping my new Old Paint on the trail...and tougher yet to keep this gaggle of hobby-horses behind me in check.  They tend to wander off toward anything shiny. Even when we hold 'truth' out like a carrot.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Just Like A Kardashian...

As you are well aware, I was cured of the debilitating disease of media-consumerism as a youth.  I took the cure.  I quit.  Haven't gone back. Won't.  I can breathe out here and there are no somnombulant hours of which I can recall nothing of substance because of sitting motionless on a couch in the evenings.  What caused me to do this was an odd quirk of fate.  I got a life.  Yep, I saw one on sale...and having to have the latest and greatest...I bought it.  The time I spent living this spanking brand-new life left little time for staring endlessly at bright screens.  At the time to me, it wasn't really a conscious choice to opt out of what I now know to be talmudic conditioning propaganda.  I just never seemed to have the time.  I couldn't cough up those required six hours a day.  I was too busy fightin' and fuckin'.  Readin' and writin'...so to speak.  Living. Working. Interacting with people and my environs.  And experiencing life outside the tube.
  
Now, I don't recommend this lifestyle for everyone.  Oh, gawd no.  If you haven't given up such TV matters at a rather early age...well, life without it would probably bore you to tears.  You wouldn't know what to do with yourselves.  You would have very little fear of strangers; would have to make judgements for yourself; take my word for it...you couldn't handle it.  I used to have a friend that was similarly afflicted as myself...out of the media loop...and when he would visit his Mother, he always noticed that her clocks were never running.  They had all stopped by virtue of not being wound or having run out of DC power long ago.  She told time by the sun.  Well, at least a bright object that mimicked the sun's arc.  The television in the corner. It shone when the sun beamed and went dark and reassured her of which glorious country she lived in at the end of the broadcast day.  It was always half-passed "Days of Our Lives", or a quarter to "Family Ties".  She knew what time it was by deciphering what images were on the screen, in relation to what was in the code book...the TV guide.  His Mother didn't get out much. Staggering, to say the least. But I don't want to talk about that.

I saw a horrible movie the other day.  On my computer.  I don't do TV, as you know.  It was a bad attempt at a science-fiction think piece. 
"The Penitent Man".  I do not recommend it.  It was atrociously pretentious, full of logic missteps, vanity...you name it...very few oft made mistakes of film were left out of this stinker.  However.  
It did have an interesting notion woven into its childish message.  The main character was a man that had stumbled onto the secret of time-travel.  OMG!  How many times since H.G. Wells has this tired old theme been explored?  But before this character had perfected a way to travel back in years...he had invented the technology to "see" history.  That intrigued me.  Not just the possibility to witness history as it really happened, on a screen...but the fact that the writers of this tale had envisioned exactly what this would cause when it became a consumer product.  Chaos.  When Christians could see for themselves that in the year zero...there was nothing in the middle-east but ignorant goatherds.  No Jesus.  They lost faith in everything they had always lived by.  Similarly, seeing that there was no Buddha, the Quran was just a fairy-tale etc... would add to the hopelessness of the world's religious  When people would go back to Dealey Plaza on their time-screens and witness the fact that JFK was not killed by a 'lone nut gunman',(and various other false-flag events in history), all government propaganda fell apart. Anyone could witness the greed and avarice throughout the tenure of man on earth.  Even back to the slime crawling onto the shores. This new screen caused unimagined horrors. And on and on.


Interesting notion.  And an accurate prediction of the results that such a technology would produce, I believe.

Someone once said concerning 'science fiction', that anything man can imagine, can and will be accomplished.  Heaven help us.

So I am reading the jew-news on a mainstream site(I like to keep an eye on what the enemy is planning and pushing).  Everything there seemed to be concentric to a tube-knowledge.  Considering that I don't know anything about "Kardashians", when the VP said he felt like one of them...and knowing that this surname is probably Armenian...well, I had to assume by just reading the headline that he felt as if he was a victim of genocide.  Not so Bucko. He was talking about celebrity.  And yes, that old nemesis...television.  Go figure.  I think this shit has gone too far.  
In case you get ALL of your information on the propaganda screen...not the aforementioned 'truth screen'...the Armenians(approx two million) were slaughtered by the jewish Turks way back at the beginning of the 20th century.  I don't think you will see that on the history channel.  Now we have those of Armenian descent occupying popular culture. And as jewish sex-symbols no less.  I cannot even address the irony of some things. Oh brother.

I don't feel like trying to keep up with the Kardashians.  I feel more like their ancestors.  I feel that the same tribal ultimatum has been issued me...the jew's way or the highway.  Is that the same? 
So here is to the invention of the 'truth screen', the chaos and revolt it can bring, and to the death of the 'untruth screen' to which you are all addicted.  I've about had it with keeping up.















 

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Rocks, Hard Places, Blame And The Nightmare...

This may be a bit...I dunno...'dark' for some.  But if you find yourself a bit too happy lately.  Frivolous in the face of the travails of life.  In need of a downer.  Please continue.  I disavow any responsibility for the side-effects of depression that could follow reading it. Please don't sue me.

You know the dream.  You have had it off and on for years. You are butt-naked in a public place...usually at that place in your life that caused you anxiety anyway...and you are trying to fit in, or get to a place where you can grab something to cover yourself.

I have had this dream/nightmare, and it never ceases to shake me up.  Of course, it is wonderfully relieving to awaken and find yourself in your own little bed.  Not naked in a train station or high school. But you are shaken by the bending of time that you have just mentally experienced.  That feeling that you will never be able to get out of a situation in which you feel lost and embarrassed...and, well...naked.  A nightmare that never seems to end.  It just gets worse.
 
You are about to notice the beginnings of such a hallucination that isn't a hallucination and that truly does not end except in death.  I'm speaking of aging.
I do not want to get into a description of the process of 'wheels falling off'.  Whining and complaining about aches and pains and diminishing returns. Loss of the energy that you once had.  Or loss in general.  That is a 'given' that is lost on those that see such a time as so far in their future as not to even be contemplated now.  And that's okay.  I suppose.  It was for me.  When I was young.
But aging is a nightmare for many other reasons.  While you were not contemplating such a time in your short life.  While you did have the energy to make a difference, to the world...to yourself...did you do enough?  Not enough to satisfy some panel of metaphysical judges or gods.  But enough to satisfy that aging man or woman that you will, or have become.  Do any of us?  For aren't we the toughest judge of our own lives and our accomplishments?

Blame is a specter of mine.  An evil spirit which I cannot exorcise. One upon which I rely and fear simultaneously.  I lean on it like the cripple that I have often seen in the mirror, leans on his crutch.  We all blame our failings on others...it is human nature(or so I have found) to do so.  I blamed "the sixties" for intervening in my young life.  Pulling me into social awareness when I should have gone to class.  Thinking that I could make a difference in the world by carrying a placard and screaming at the police.  I didn't.  Somewhere in my head, at least 10% of me knew at the time, that this was not the road to take.  But that other 90% said "go on...have some fun protesting and playing the angry young man".  For my debauchery with women...I blame my inherited good looks.  "Hey, if women find you attractive...whatta ya gonna do?...turn them down?"  For my skewed view of family, I blame the death of my father when I was very young and not having had a real male role-model in my life during those formative pubescent years.  I blame McDonalds for the chubbiness that I had to conquer in my mid-thirties.  You name a problem in my life...and I've got someone else to blame for it. 
But at the very least, I am mostly aware of my shortcomings.  I understand that this blame is not a panacea for roads not taken.  It is mostly ill-placed and can't really help me now.
But that's as may be.  We all have our demons.

They place us between rocks and hard places.  Many say that I blame jews/judaism for most of the problems of the world, which of course, considering that I have lived in the world; I have been subject to.  Well, I do. But it is a measured responsibility which I place upon this cult.  I have paid their usury, when I could have spent my currency on other things.  I have abandoned their media, which I could have enjoyed were it not so slanted toward the talmud.  I have culled my reading habits for fear of being sucked into wasting  time on the same point of view.  I have spent untold hours in meticulous research vetting most everything in popular culture to avoid breaking my obsessive rules of not being party to or giving consent to this all-consuming decline of the human condition at the hands of the tribe that rules.  Much time given.  Much effort spent.  Just so I can look at that guy in the bathroom.  And I can.  But he is so much older now.  I barely recognize him.  And that too plays into the nightmare of which I speak. 
So I have found myself between that rock of judaism, and the hard place of my almost obsessive resistance to it.  But as I 'skinny' through these closely juxtapositioned demons, I know there will be reward when I finally do awaken from this nightmare of aging.  The cure of either blissful emptiness in which there will be no "I" to care about such things...or another adventure.  One perhaps when I can remake my faulty decisions.  One in which blame is not needed at all.  One in which I stick to those piano lessons and college lessons and life lessons.  One that doesn't deteriorate into so much effort just to be able to glance at a reflection without regret.  "A consummation devoutly to be wished...to die, to sleep".